


"Hating Every Minute"

by LelithSugar



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Consensual Non-Consent, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Humor, If you think this has a happy ending... you're right well done you, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ramsay is his own warning, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay, and Theon loves it, briarpatching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 18:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9620117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelithSugar/pseuds/LelithSugar
Summary: Part of the Bloodied Up consensual!AU Thramsay series: In which our perverts in love use a political mission as an excuse to go and have a normal - perhaps even vanilla - night in, and it goes just about as well to plan as you'd expect.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emphysematous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emphysematous/gifts).



> WARNING: Heed the tag. here be consensual nonconsent, ie rape/coercion play. It's intended to be the extremely hammy kind of “oh, please don't throw me in the briar patch”, Janet-and-Frank, Brad-and-Frank kind of playing at not consenting but if such things are triggery or otherwise not fun for you I would suggest giving this one a skip. 
> 
> Crib notes on the AU/Setting: If you can't be bothered to go backand read, I set up an AU in this series In which... the whole bloody mess, essentially, is a cover for the fact that Ramsay and Theon discovered upon meeting that they were a highly compatible kind of perverts and ran with it.
> 
> ** For Emphysematous, on the occasion of our tenth anniversary. Still inspiring my best-worst thoughts as much as ever. Love you always, my Gorgeous. Tenth anniversary presents are supposed to be tin. Tin?! Have some questionable porn instead.  
> (Also, despite having been sitting around for ages it's a month late and I feel like that's the closest we'll ever get to a decider on which one of us is the man). **

 

There was little to no legitimate reason for Ramsay Bolton to announce that he needed to take Reek along when he rode down to Fairmarket to check on the respective intentions of outlying Freys, but nobody was about to challenge him. Mind you, there'd been very little reason behind anything he'd apparently done to the poor creature and that had put a stop to precisely nothing. Besides, he'd made it plain that he didn't like to be separated from it for any length of time, so when he ordered Reek washed, brushed and dressed back into something resembling the man he'd arrived as – although cruically no emblems because he intended for neither of them to be recognised on the way – his will was carried out quickly and without argument.

Theon hadn't really been sure what strength he could add to the mission, aside from saving one of Ramsay's lackey's some work, but he understood Ramsay's reservations about leaving him unattended at the Dreadfort considering what people presumed to be his regular standard of treatment and he was hardly beset with more interesting things to do so he made no complaint. And then Ramsay had made a series of increasingly pointed comments about the fact it would just be the two of them, and that it would be a few days' round trip with lodgings along the way where nobody would know who they were, and called him a half wit and then 'squid-for-brains', which he'd been so amused by it appeared to be Theon's new nickname.

Once that particular penny had dropped, the entire process of being cleaned and tidied became exciting. It was a while since they'd had an excuse, and better than the feel of velvet and sable against his skin was the dark, one-sided smile that lifted half of Ramsay's face at the sight of him clean shaven and in comparative finery again on the morning they were due to set off. He knew he looked good, and if he hadn't, the hunger in Ramsay's warmly narrowed eyes would have told him.

“Look at you, my princeling!” Names like that were usually mocking, laced with venom and followed up with a smack to the face: to hear one earnest and full of posessive appreciation was almost bizarre. “I mean, it's not quite as becoming of you as your rags, of course," He came close to tuck a hand around Theon's waist and kiss at his neck, "...or nothing at all, but I suppose you'll do.”

Theon grinned and preened. He looked heathier, brighter in the warm grey and browns than he'd ever looked in black. Younger, perhaps, but that was no problem: Ramsay intended to pass him as his squire so knocking a few years off him didn't make it any less believable.

For his part, Ramsay looked indisinctly smart in uncharacteristic blue and silver: striking, but unthreatening; forgettable unless you were personally inclined to freeze solid in the steel threat of his eyes, and oh, Theon was. He sometimes wondered how in any of the hells Ramsay wasn't as famed as the Tyrells for his physical beauty, but then he remembered that he was also known for skinning people and hanging their glistening corpses out on crosses for the world to fear. But still. With the cool brightness of the blues bringing out the sharp darkness of his hair, the pink of his mirthfull lips, the clarity of those eyes, one could definitely be inclined to look over the flaying and the hunting and the mad family.

“And yourself. You'll have every maid in The Neck simpering over you, swanning round looking like that without your banners to scare them off.”

“You're the only maid I want simpering over me.” Ransay gave him a tender smack on the arse. “Now fuck off and get horses ready. And tell that fucking drunkard Osfer, if either horse throws one more shoddily nailed shoe...” It was a visible effort, sometimes, being Ramsay: there was a level of insanity even he struggled for unless something had really upset him. “Tell him I'll take the skin off his feet and replace it with a pair of horse shoes that definitely will be nailed on properly. And I'll fashion a pair of shoes for the corresponding horse out of the skin.”

“Drowned god, I will as well, you fucking lunatic.” He shook his head. “Are you wearing plate? Do I need to bring your horse to the steps?”  
  
“No, I'm not risking it. You've not even got maille on, we'll keep well out of the way.” If Theon was disappointed by not getting to see Ramsay in proper armour, or touched by the idea he wouldn't want to be safer than Theon himself was, the facial expressions cancelled each other out. He managed to remember to limp on the way down the stairs, and to flinch if any of the staff so much as looked at him. Nobody ever challenged Reek – few ever came close enough. As safe as it made him, as much as he enjoyed the part of Ramsay's battered and overused pet, he was looking forward to others seeing more to him for a few days.

 

***

 

By its own merits it was neither an easy nor a short ride, although the converstaion and the company was easy and, given that they were to stopping at their leisure along the  way, there was no particular need to ration the wine or the water and make either of them uncomfortable. It was good to be out in the green plains of late summer, to breathe country air before it was cold enough to bite the lungs, and the wide, flat valley posed little threat of ambush or unexpected company. When Theon's old packhorse began to falter under the weight of him and their luggage combined, he hopped down to walk but was quickly pulled up to ride with Ramsay on his mch larger hunter. Theon leaned his back against the sturdiness of Ramsay's chest,  rested warm with Ramsay's arms around him to keep a casual grip on the reins as they carried along. He could feel Ramsay's breath against his ear and almost fell asleep, basking in the sunshine on his face.

Perhaps he did drift off for a short while, because he remembered they hynotic flickering of sunlight in a forest and the Ramsay was nudging at him with the front of his shoulder, pushing him to sit up even as he noticed Ramsay's hand had slipped under the layers of his clothing to rest fingertips against the bare flesh of his stomach.

“Come on then Thee. We may as well stop here as anywhere. You take these round and bring everything in, I'll get room and board settled.”

Theon groaned. One of the joys of being away from the keep was supposed to be not doing as much work. “Why aren't you --”

“I'm a knight of the bloody realm!... supposedly. I can't be seen tending my own horses and letting my squire sit on his lovely backside.” He straightened and lifted his enunciation into a vaguely southron accent. “You're lucky I don't beat you for your insolence.”

Theon heaved a melodramatic, whistful sigh. “Am I though? Am I...”

Ramsay shook his head.

 

***

 

By the time Theon made his way into the half-full room, Ramsay was already smiling brightly at the Inkeep's wife, laying on the charm like a mason filling a clay wall, but careful to let just enough tired frustration read in his face.

“.. be happy to of course, if we could, uh, Ser -”

“Greyfair. But - Robert, if it please you, ma'am. And here's my squire, Jon.”

Theon covered his immediate reaction to Ramsay's choice of assumed name in an impromptu coughing fit and Ramsay slapped him helpfully on the back, maintaining hopeful eye contact with the woman.

“We can lodge you Ser, would be our honour. We've only got the one room left though. You'd have to share with your boy.”

Ramsay gave a considered huff and a deliberately weary smile. “That'll do for us, ma'am. I've been riding all day. By the time I've gone on and found somewhere else – if such a place exists between here and White Harbour, I could be fed and -” _up to my balls in this one_ , his eyes very definitely said at Theon, “- washed and half way to sleep, if not better. I am sure it will suffice.”

“Ah, feeding you I can certainly manage! There's rabbit stew, with the last of the haunch and the marrow from the venison in it, it's none fancy but there's plenty of it and the bread's fresh today.”

Theon watched the clench of Ramsay's jaw and instinctively dropped his eyes to his right hand, which flexed but made no move for the knife he kept his boot, so it appeared that at least momentarily the prospect of decent food was enough to outweigh the slight of the poaching. It had been a while since they'd eaten and as it happened deer weren't Ramsay's favourite game. Theon wondered if the woman would ever realise how lucky she was. Even with squid for brains he could add up the fitting punishment for that one pretty quickly.

Ramsay dumped himself into a high backed bench by the fire – for a Northern boy he was suprisingly fond of his comforts where he could find them – and it took the full cradle of Theon's arms to support the bread and bowls of stew he was given from the kitchens. He had to remind himself that he could look people in the eye and didn't need to put on a stutter when addressing the cook; that even though he was still sporting a yellowing bruise from eye socket to jawbone on his right side, he needn't overact the victim and that if anything as Ramsay... _Ser Rob_ 's squire, he was their superior. It had been a while, and he relished the novelty.

Theon was so used to the constant tension of remembering to cringe and cower and to jump up to do things himself any time someone else tried to serve his lord that the effort to remember not to was making his head spin. It seemed at least from a spontaneous laugh that Ramsay knew why he looke quite so conflicted when the innkeep's wife came over to refill their mugs with ale before he'd finished breaking his bread into quarters. It was indeed fresh, and they both tucked into the stew, silence naturally occuring for a moment as they mutually appraised it and found it to be far better than it had any right to be. Ramsay's eyes widened.

“Seven hells. What kind if witchcraft has gone into this?”  
  
“That'll be your Lord father's venison, I'd wager.” Theon smirked but Ramsay didn't rise to it. Instead he went to work on his stew, and Theon did likewise although after a few moments his attention wavered from his appetite and he realised Ramsay had not taken his eyes off him all the time he'd been eating. He raised an eyebrow, prompting Ramsay to share his thoughts.

“Have we ever actually eaten at a table together?”

“Nope, don't think so,” Theon mumbled happily around a mouthfull of bread. “Just as well really. Not sure feeding me scraps of this under the table would get you anywhere.” He dropped his spoon into his bowl for effect and Ramsay's laugh echoed in his mug of ale. The fire crackled, the inn rumbled with merry conversation and once or twice Ramsay's hands brushed against Theon's, subtle and completely unnecessary.

Somehow despite his distraction Ramsay managed to make short work of the huge bowl of stew, and his bread; he drained his mug of ale and slid out from the bench, leaving Theon to pick at a bigger portion of food than he'd ever really been accustomed to whilst he made their arrangements towards the back of the room Theon saw him spread out a figure of coin in his hand, check it and pass it to the inkeep who immediately handed it to his wife and Ramsay followed the man through a doorway. Theon turned back to his food and couldn't hear the landlady relay the conversation to her own serving boy but if Theon knew Ramsay he'd have added on a sum not to be woken in the morning: he liked to settle his bills as he incurred them, rise precisely when he felt like it and would leave in his own good time. He had Theon – Jon, of all the fucking names he could have picked to be his lowborn squire boy – to fetch him food and ale and whatever he needed: he had no cause to be pestered by the inn's staff.

Ramsay reappeared at the table, less his cloak and shoulder bag, with an amused look on his face.

“I've inspected our lodgings...” The way he trailed off invited question.

“And?”

He lowered his voice, but only just. “And, - it's a bloody good job I was planning on fucking you, the size of that bed. Might have been an uncomfortable shock for at least one of us otherwise.”

Theon snorted but, once he'd followed Ramsay up the curled staircase and opened the door, conceded the point: The entire room was occupied by its pallet bed, which itself would just about sleep two side by side presuming they were extremely well acquainted. The door swung shut with a thud, and in the space it had left bared Ramsay's rolled overnight bag, and a stand for a basin with a lip that you were evdiently also expected to use as a table; otherwise there was barely room to stand, even touching from shoulder to knee as they were. It might have gone some way to explaining the look the innkeep's wife had given him when Ramsay had accepted the room, but Theon couldn't imagine the idea of sleeping top to toe or even a little impromptu buggery in times of hardship was of any great shock to her. The nearest town big enough to have a brothel was a good day's riding further west, he'd not seen any viable daughters shying in the inn's corners and - gods bless her for her hospitality and her cooking - the woman herself wasn't one he thought many passing through were like to choose over their own men if it came to it and they happened to have them presented less than an arm's lenth away for anhy measure of time. Which raised a thought.

“So...” Theon helped Ramsay out of his gambeson and by the time he made a start on untying the fastenings of his undershirt, Ramsay was already chuckling at the wheedle in his voice, anticipating his line of questioning readily. “... Er, this Robert Greyfair...”

“Ser Robert, to you.”

“Why yes, of course.” The roll of Theon's eyes said different, and Ramsay laughed at him, but the laughter dried out of his mouth as Theon put his cool hands up Ramsay's shirt and onto his bare chest. “And this Ser Robert... is he particularly known for taking advantage of his innocent squires when they're asleep in bed next to him?” His hands slid up to Ramsay's shoulders, lifting his clothes away. “Does he like breaking his boys in? Or does he just want a hole to fuck and doesn't much care whose, or if they're willing?”

“ _Theon!_ And if you asked someone, out of the two of us, who they thought had the worse desires, they'd say me!”  
  
“They do you a disservice, Ramsay, really. An upstanding gentleman at every turn. Ser Rob, on the other hand... I'm fairly sure he's a pervert.”

“Is he now.” Ramsay pulled Theon against his body and kissed him, warm and slow, his eyes slipping closed and his hands busying themselves removing Theon's clothing. As pleased as he'd been to see him smartly dressed and pretty, the idea of having him naked and close in such relaxed conditions for a change had a certain draw.

“Mmhmm.” As much as Theon was enjoying the easy affection, he couldn't resist. “Forcing himself on green young men who don't know any better. Abusing their good service and loyalty. Leading them astray... ”

“Sweetling, you could not be lead astray by a cart and four good horses.” Ramsay pulled away briefly to help Theon lift his undershirt over his head. “Besides, I'm not sure it's taking advantage when you want it this badly.”

Theon ducked in to kiss and make a small, happy noise against Ramsay's lips before pulling back, deliberately widening his eyes in a total mockery of innocence. “Oh, but no Ser, you can't.” He guided Ramsay's hands with his own, one to hold his backside, the other to rest over his crotch. “I've never done anything like this before. You _mustn't...”_

Ramsay snorted in an effort not to choke on his own laughter, but Theon's patently ridicuous affectation of naievety was evidently not entirely unappealing to him, if the squeeze he gave his arse was anything to go by. “Fine. Have it your way.” The wink was almost imperceptibly quick, but it was there, before he let go and turned to fully undress himself. “Best get some sleep, then. We've a lot of riding to do tomorrow.”

If Theon had thought he meant a word of it, he might have argued, but the small bed was warm and welcoming around his nude body and he didn't even feel Ramsay get into it.

 

***

 

Theon awoke to the unmistakeable nudge of Ramsay's cock against his arse, slipping into the furrow between his cheeks. It could have been accidental - the narrow set of the bed forcing them together with every roll or turn - but then Ramsay's hand was over his mouth, soft but strong, and Ramsay's lips were against his ear.

“Shhh. Keep still. I'm not going to hurt you.”

Theon's stomach somersaulted and his cock responded instantly. He turned his head slightly so he could speak from under Ramsay's grasp without actually avoiding it and spoiling his own fun. His voice was deliberately breathy, a little high and tentative. “What are you... oh. Oh!”

Ramsay's free hand was cupping the rounded muscle of Theon's backside, his fingers curling just enough for his nails to dig in. Apparently satisfied that Theon wouldn't cry out in shock, he dropped his hand, roaming it appreciatievely round Theon's body in the half-darkness, as if he'd never felt the hard curve of his chest or the ridges of his hips before. Every one of the touches was welcome, not least the one that dragged his palm across Theon's prick where it was stiffening to rest eagerly against his bare stomach.

Theon realised that a torch was lit in one of the wall sconces, so either he hadn't been asleep as long as he'd thought or this sojourn was far less spontaneous than it was made out to be, and that idea itself set the burning under his skin as Ramsay's wandering hand also made its way to his arse, the spreading grip an obvious threat. He knew exactly where this was going, and the part he was supposed to play. “ _Ser!_ you can't-”

“Keep your mouth shut, boy. I can do as I please.”

Arousal rolled over and through Theon's body like a spring tide. Ramsay had always been welcome to do more or less whatever he liked to him, and he'd only ever made a poorly acted attempt at stopping him. He'd physically fought him, a few times when such was welcome, and early on he'd spent many a fevered moment hurriedly stroking his cock to the notion that he didn't have any say, that Ramsay could and would easily kill him if he didn't do as he was told, no matter how humiliating or disgusting... if it had been true once it had quickly made a lie of itself: It was transparent to Theon - even if it wasn't safe to be so to anyone else - that Ramsay adored him and would halt any action on a pinhead if he gave the word. But crucially for Theon's own twisted little predilections, that word was not 'no'.

So the opportunity to feign resistance, to squirm and protest and imagine that he was powerless to prevent what was happening to him was one Theon was enjoying immensely, with every thrumming, tingling inch of his body. There wasn't even any of the pain that he usually embraced to distract him, and from the way he could hear the stopper pop from the bottle of oil that was always to hand and the thick liquid shifting generously inside it, Ramsay wasn't intending to make this difficult for either of them. His wet fingers began to rub in little circles over Theon's entrance, steady and teasing, and Theon could barely stand it. He remembered his role, determined to make the most of it. 

“I don't... lay with men, ser. I'm not-”

“Oh, don't be so green, lad. I'm not after marrying you. Just give me a few minutes in this wonderful arse of yours and I'll let you go back to sleep.”

Theon affected a whine, even as he pushed back onto Ramsay's fingers and felt him trying not to laugh against the back of his neck. Ramsay nipped at the skin there and sent fire spreading down Theon's spine; the tips of both offered fingers edged into him in one sharp but painless swipe and one slipped further, nudged deeper even as he shook his head and tried to sound frightened. It was coming out more as desperation, but the effort had to count for something, surely? He had just mumbled another discouragement as Ramsay's second finger glided into him and curled, and the objection choked off into a heated moan: the oil was warm and Ramsay's slow, exploratory fingers were taking time to press in all the right places, even if he pretended that was incidental.

“See? Not so bad. You're training to be a knight, boy. Things are going to hurt a little here and there. You're going to have to get used to doing as you're told.”

As expert as the movement of his hands, Ramsay's words were tilted perfectly to nudge into all the dark little places he knew set Theon's mind aflame. Paltry though his attempt was, with his body eagerly flexing around Ramsay's probing fingers, Theon kept it up and fought to keep the boyish lilt to his voice. “But... but... you'd prefer a maid yourself, surely.”

“Mayhaps I would. But you're what I've got, and I can easily get you as wet as one.” Fingertips pressed more oil against Theon's hole and he could feel it running down the crease between his cheeks as those fingers slid in again, Ramsay pushing forwad so that his cock prodded into the meat of Theon's backside. “And the gods know you're pretty enough. Warm enough. Tighter than most.” He worked his fingers apart and Theon keened properly. It might have passed for fear but it didn't, partly because he couldn't resist putting his hand back and awkwardly stroking from under Ramsay's balls up to his prick, coaxing on with his hand even whilst he lifted his voice in case they were being listened to. Gods, he hoped they were. And even if they weren't it worked for his own benefit, because playing the innocent was a rare thrill for him, something new and dirty to warm the dark corners of his lusts.

He couldn't help the open groan it began with, but he at least tried for a fearful tone to match his words. “Please... please don't. I've never-”

“Well, you're about to. I paid your family good money for you, boy. I feed you and clothe you and put you up... you don't really get to say no to me.” That got another moan out of Theon: unquestionably, Ramsay knew exactly which threads to pull to make him fall to bits.

“M'not a whore, ser...”

“And yet, coin has been paid and here you are in my bed. And I fully intend to make use of you, so you can go out into the night and find yourself someone else to take you in, or you can spread these pretty legs for me and let me have what I want.”

Theon could not keep the gravel out of his voice and it had all gone rather well for his tastes, rather quickly. “Oh, pack that in Ram, I'll come if you keep talking that way.”

Ramsay chuckled but didn't drop the slight and unspecific accent he'd given the character. “It's of no odds to me if you spill yourself, _Jon_. I'll stop fucking you when I'm good and finished, and not a moment sooner. Besides, if you like it so much, perhaps you'll be a little less resistant next time I want my cock milked. Just part of your duties, after all...”

“ _Oh._ ” It was hard for Theon to tell if Ramsay was pretending to be tentative or just teasing him, from the way he just pressed the fleshy head of his prick against Theon's opening and waited as the muscle fluttered, but two could play at that game. He put his best pitiful whimper in his voice, loudly, and wriggled. “No, ser, don't – please, you'll hurt me, I'll-” Ramsay's forearm just brushed against the leaking head of Theon's prick on the way to grabbing a hold round his wrists: he pretended not to notice.

“Not if you keep still. Don't struggle. Just let me have you.”

Ramsay wrestled Theon's arms to his sides and held him; his oiled cock slid home in one smooth thrust.

The moan that followed was involuntary; Theon raised his knee and shifted forwards to afford Ramsay a proper mount on his body, and to the watery hell with how out of keeping with his act that was: it felt good. Ramsay evidently wasn't inordinately bothered by the game either: buried in the heated grip of Theon's body he did not seem to require any additional encouragement, didn't seem to care that Theon relaxed and signed where a novice would probably balk at how quickly he graduated from the first push to more urgent shoves of his hips, and didn't correct his acting.

Theon bathed in the familiar prickle of pride as Ramsay's breathing quickly grew heavier and turned into soft grunting at his enjoyment of Theon's body. Ramsay rocked his hips gently but steadily, bit softly into Theon's shoulders, muffling his own sounds and savouring the answering mewls of pleasure.

When Theon moaned properly, Ramsay pushed back from him and withdrew to turn him over in the bed's weathered furs. He was panting, but in no rush for his cock to find its mark again; he felt along Theon's collarbones with his lips, trailed up and bit him solidly under the front of his jaw.

Theon curled into the bite quietly, the middle of his back drawing up off the bed as Ramsay sucked hard on the skin in his mouth. Sighing through his nose, Theon shivered: he could feel the bruise blossoming and as covered in Ramsay's scars as he was, there was nothing quite like a fresh bitemark to draw the stares, to make sure everyone was picturing Ramsay fucking him. And here they wouldn't be envisioning torture or horror: just the urgent rutting of two young men with too much lust in them and not enough space.

Ramsay relessed the grip of his teeth, gently allowed Theon to rest back into the bed and used the pause to slick a fresh handful of oil over himself, a couple of drops falling to the worn bedclothes. Theon unselfconsciously shifted his knees wide to make room for him and watched Ramsay's face light with hunger in response... sweet, virginal 'Jon' would have been unlikely to have known how to offer his body quite like that, however much he might have been enjoying his first real lay, but Theon had forgotten all about him. He forgot a lot great many things when Ramsay pushed into him, shifted back onto his knees and pulled Theon's hips onto his lap... such as how not to cry out at the feeling.

Once fully sheathed inside him again, Ramsay gave a few steady rolls of his hips, and Theon sighed, but it was evident from the momentary clench of tension in Ramsay's face that that wasn't what he'd wanted. He laced his hands in the small of Theon's back and lifted his lower body along with him as he knelt up, watching Theon's face for the way the sharper slant pressed his cock into the most sensitive curve. Theon nodded eagerly, his eyes fluttering shut: the pleasure that had been flashes and sparks before became a smolder and caught quickly. Ramsay was not slow to notice, and apparently that was not quite enough for him either.

Ramsay slid his hands down from Theon's hips, stroked them all the way down his legs in one fluid motion and quickly – left then right – lifted Theon's ankles up to rest on his shoulders. He resumed his pace.

Theon's eyes bolted open and he stifled his own surprised groan with the back of his hand: they'd be heard, for sure, and Ramsay wouldn't thank him for sounding like a complete harlot about it. The effort probably wasn't worth much, because at that angle Ramsay's cock was making him see stars on every thrust and the grunts and moans Theon bit his hand to stop himself making were coming out through his nose. Somehow he couldn't quite force himself to care.

The look on his face told Theon that Ramsay knew exactly how unbearably, beautifuly intense the sensation was, and he didn't let up on the pace for the space of a breath. Theon clapsed both hands over his mouth and tried desperately to smother the sounds he was making but it did nothing for the rhythmic creak of the pallet bed or the way the most recent change of position had meant his shoulder was knocking the small bedside table against the wall; he wriggled away from it but that only drove him further onto Ramsay's cock, shifted it more against that spot inside him and Theon was sure he was about to lose consciousness. He'd have been having trouble breathing with his body folded like that if he'd been remembering to do so with any regularity, but alternating between desperate ragged sighs and holding in the urge to scream, his lungs were the least of it.

There was a flash of undiluted evil in Ramsay's grin as he slowed down, something wild that Theon had learned to fear less than others did but that he knew on sight for trouble, nonetheless. Ramsay almost stilled, settling to a maddening rocking motion: his cock in deep, his movements shallow - small tight rubs back and forth over the spot that made the muscles in Theon's legs tense up and his eyes roll in his head. It was effort for him, certainly, to reign in to such precision when his instincts screamed at him solely to fuck, and the longer he did the wilder the urge to simply throw Theon back over and pound him into the mattress grew, but his control was well rewarded.

Ramsay watched with baited breath: Theon writhing, his hands dropping from his face to fumble across his own skin in desperate abandon and no longer muffling the panted whine that was getting higher pitched wth each tiny thrust of Ramsay's hips. It was obviously only a matter of time and there wasn't a lot of that, either: tossing his head and starting to contort with tension, Theon was lost. He arched his back and scrabbled his hands in the bedclothes for some sort of grip to anchor him to reality as the pleasure built up, up and up, overwhelmed him suddenly in a flash of consuming heat and spilled from his untouched cock.

Ramsay chuckled at him and doubled his effort through the last ecstatic twitches of his body, but heeded Theon's open-mouthed cry when his climax was fully spent and it became too much; he withdrew quickly, smoothly, and dropped Theon's legs to the bed, a dead weight.

Theon could only watch in blissful satisfaction as Ramsay took himself in hand to finish off, staring unfixedly at him in the torchlight. Ramsay's eyes raked over the fresh red marks on Theon's neck and collarbones, trailed through the come cooling on the flat and shining plane of his stomach and dipped to the lazy, welcoming spread of his legs before snapping back up to what even Theon could feel was a singularly lewd and well-fucked smile. Ramsay braced his balance with one hand on Theon's knee and allowed his head to loll back a little as the last shallow flicks of his wrist wrung the pleasure from his body. If Theon had the strength he'd have tried to help, or involve himself in Ramsay's climax somehow other than admiring it... the way his upper lip curled to bare the sharpness of his teeth, the way his brow twisted and he almost looked shocked by the sudden growl that tore out of him as his seed splattered up Theon's body.

He collapsed, chest heaving, twisting at the last moment to avoid sticking their bodies together; the pallet creaked under his movement, newly deafening in the early morning silence.

A pained, wheezing cough was plainy, soberly audible from another room; Ramsay looked vaguely and inexplicably rueful even as he mopped the pair of them dry with a corner of the coverlet.

“Well, if there's any such person as Ser Greyfair, I think that's probably done for the poor fucker's reputation.” If he'd had the malice aforethought, he'd have deliberately given the name of someone he didn't like and then had Theon scream _that_ with whorish abandon. Or worse. But there'd be other times.

Theon gave him a sleepy, incidental rub on the thigh. Sated and wrung out, unconsciousness was coming for him quickly. “Hm. That or he's going to find himself with a queue of eager hands and no idea why...”

“Do you think you can keep your eager hands to yourself for the time being?” He picked up Theon's wrist and held it away from his over-sensitive flesh, settling into the bedclothes with a weak groan. “It's getting light out.”

Theon's response was a wordless and weary rumble from his chest, and to pull Ramsay's arm around him as he would a blanket when he rolled onto his side to give in to sleep.

 

***

 

Outtakes - (because sometimes my characters do not play along when I'm writing):

 

“Ah, fuck, oh Ram-” He didn't need the urgent widening if Ramsay's eyes or the sharp pinch to tell him that at that volume he was in grave danger of giving them away with the slip - “Ram your huge cock in me harder, Ser Rob!”

Ramsay's voice was a low rumble, he didn't stop. “ _Beautifully_ done.”

“Thanks. Ah!”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback, encouragement and prompting always gratefully received.


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